Year in Pee-Yoo

The following is our family newsletter we send out with holiday cards. And by "we" I mean "me". If I don't have your street address, consider yourself lucky:

2005 - We made it out alive. Husband has less hair, I've acquired strange behavioral ticks while the boys poked another hole in our house and psyche; yet we're alive nonetheless.

January: Our boys turn five and their parties just keep getting bigger. Who knew so many people would drive to Cow Country just for cake and ice cream? Between separate preschool classes, sports lessons, Hebrew school and neighborhood friends - the crowd could fill two professional football teams with at least one kid left to fetch water. Next year we'll only invite kids whose parents laugh at my jokes. That ought to narrow the field considerably.

February: We sue our builder because mold was found after nine or ten hurricanes drenched the house. As Democrats, we firmly believe negatives can be turned into positives with the right trial lawyer and book deal. Fingers crossed! Little League begins and I'm thrilled to find two other moms in Pasco County who don't chew tobacco or pray in public.

March: Husband endures yearly check-up and physician discovers small right kidney. Within weeks, we are told he was "probably" born with it, but not until a dozen doctors grope his groin. Condition is harmless and anonymous rumors circulate about my man's possible future in porn so win-win situation for the Robinson household.

April: Convinced by husband and over-eager parents that another baby would be fun. I forget about toxemia, carpal tunnel syndrome and stretch marks. We begin cleansing for a healthy pregnancy - no alcohol, caffeine, or political chat rooms. I rethink "no booze" clause after inviting fifteen guests to Passover dinner. No one in our house even knows how to cook. I start drinking by noon.

May: Travel to NYC and perform duties as matron-of-honor in Becky's Million-Dollar Wedding. This includes a session with professional stylists and near-arrest for wearing a Vera Wang gown in public without a bra.

Good times. Sister Michele, New Brother-in-law Scott, and I share a room the size of a small closet - surprised we leave on good terms. Later that month, my boys graduate from preschool and their Grandpa gets busted in a yarmulke.

June: Summer vacation begins along with swimming lessons. The boys like water by now so last year's screaming and subsequent therapy sessions are avoided. I finish classes and tests to become a permanently certified teacher, which in Florida is just one step above dog walker.

July: Family trip wraps up and highlights include: Grand Canyon - heart failure when boys run for edge cause “running is fun”; Sedona - thinking positive thoughts as Father-in-law careens around cliffs while fidgeting with satellite radio that can't keep a signal; Colorado Springs - staying at Becky and David's compound where we leave bread crumbs to find our way back from the toilet; Denver - peeing in car while visiting Rocky Mountains; Michele holds up a coat and imitates waterfall to help out.

August: My children leave warm and protective arms of Jewish preschool to begin kindergarten. I need a sedative, but the boys enjoy their new experience. I transfer to another high school, leaving the warm and protective arms of a competent faculty for a principal who smells like moth balls and prefers teachers who coach football. Since "good penetration" is lost on me, I slowly wonder if hauling trash would be a better career move.

September: Replace T-Ball with tennis, but Wesley Chapel social options remain limited. A new pregnancy is put on hold when blood tests reveal alarmingly low platelet levels. I start writing "funny" eulogy and plan personal End of Days - release forms illicit awkward silences from friends and Clive Own doesn't return my phone calls.

October: We drop lawsuit against builder because retainers don't grow on trees. Husband and I remind each other that mold was never a problem in Boston. Turns out all we needed were a few gutters. Information that would have helped us before torrential downpours.

November: After bone marrow biopsy fails to live up to the hype (hurts less than a Brazilian wax - trust me), docs discover platelet count has no cause or cure. Downside: no more babies; Upside: drinks on me!

December: Transfer to yet another high school in search of Fulfilling Teaching Position and try defining "oxymoron" without pharmaceutical intervention. Travel to NYC with Durkin women and drink, shop, drink, see a show, lob insults, drink, roll our eyes, drink, roam, drink, change the subject, and drink some more without killing each other. At the end of our weekend, everyone is still invited to the next family reunion. Now that's a Chanukah miracle.